


The Lengths We Will Go

by afteriwake



Series: All Of Time And Space [21]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy finds herself a pawn in the game between Sherlock and Moriarty, and in the aftermath she goes off with the Doctor to clear her head and think about what she wants from her life and her relationship with Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lengths We Will Go

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a rewrite of the Sherlock episode “The Great Game” and the Doctor Who episode “Vincent and the Doctor.” Thanks to my betas [dhampyresa](http://dhampyresa.livejournal.com) and [lotl101](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotl101/pseuds/Lotl101) for the read-throughs and advice. Vincent’s quote about the night sky is directly from “Vincent and the Doctor,” written by Richard Curtis, because I simply can’t describe it more eloquently or beautifully.

The last thing she had remembered was walking into her home, putting her handbag on the table and walking into her bedroom. She wasn’t in her bedroom now, she could tell. She was in a dark place, gagged and bound at the wrists and ankles. There was something on her chest, strapped to her, and a coat had been placed on top. The coat was big and bulky, too big, and the thing strapped to her chest was heavy and it hurt. 

Oh, God, she thought to herself. Bomb strapped to her chest. It had to be that. The case Sherlock had a few days before, the one where someone had strapped a bomb to a woman and left him clues about a murder she remembered from when she was a kid, the one he couldn’t convince the police that was murder. He had proved it was murder, and then a second case had come in the same way. He had told her he would contact her when he was free to see her, so she had been waiting. Neither of them had thought to protect her. Perhaps they should have. Her hands had been bound in front of her and she moved them up to the gag. It was hard because the coat was so bulky, and the gag was tied tightly, but finally she got it off. “Hello?” she called out.

She heard steps coming towards her, and then there was light. It was a bright light, and she blinked a few times. There was a man in a well cut suit standing in front of her. She had no clue who he was, but he looked creepy, even more than Anderson was creepy. He smiled at her. “I said hello before, but I don’t know if you heard me,” he replied. His voice sounded strange, the accent peculiar and hard to place. It almost sounded like he was trying to fake an American accent. Then she realized he was Irish. “I’ll say it again, just to be polite. Hello, Amelia Pond.”

“Who are you?” she asked. She glanced at where her watch had been but it was gone.

“You had a fine piece of jewelry. Didn’t want it to get blown to bits. It’s almost midnight if you really want to know,” he said. He pointed to her chest and she looked down. Her eyes widened. She did, in fact, have a bomb strapped to her chest, just like the woman who had given Sherlock the clues for the first case he solved a few days ago. “I figured since your boyfriend was trying to draw me out I’d have an insurance policy nearby. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t hesitate to blow you up if he steps out of line, but I’d rather not. You’re quite pretty. You’ll go far in the modeling world.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked calmly. She wanted to freak out, wanted to scream and cry, but it would get her nowhere. If she could learn anything at all about him it would help Sherlock out, provided he didn’t kill the man first.

“You don’t want to know who I am anymore?” he asked, looking just a little surprised. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re Sherlock’s pet lover, the one he trained from youth. You’d dig around for any information you could give him. How old were you when you met him? Three? Five? Can’t quite recall the details. And he did raise you, didn’t he? Your Aunt Sharon was a horrible guardian. I can relate. It’s almost a pity I didn’t meet you first. You could have turned into something more special than you are now.” He squatted down and reached over to touch her hair. She glared at him, and he grinned in response. “Don’t get a look like that. I adore gingers. I don’t see what all the fuss about them are, but I like them just the same.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like psychopathic madmen who strap bombs to my chest,” she snapped.

The grin dropped instantly and he slapped her so hard her head turned. “I am not a psychopath!” he yelled, moving his mouth close to her ear. She winced at the loudness and the pain on her face. When she turned her head back he had stood up again and was adjusting his cuffs. “I’m a sociopath, like your beloved Sherlock. Get your terminology right.”

“He’s not a sociopath,” she said.

“He’s got you believing that, at any rate. That’s how the rest of the world views him.” He adjusted his shirt at the neck and then squatted again. She flinched instinctively and he chuckled. “It’s good that you’re scared. You should be.”

“Go to hell,” she said.

He reached over and undid the binds at her ankle and then undid the binds holding her hands together. “Don’t think of running. I have snipers out there, and I have the detonator to the bomb. When your precious Sherlock makes his appearance, which should be soon, just walk out there.” He pointed to his left. “I’ll join you both shortly.” He reached over towards her face and she recoiled as if he was going to hit her again, but he just tapped her cheek. “That’s a good girl. Be scared.” He stood back up and walked out the direction he told her to go.

She struggled a bit to get into a standing position, and she moved over to the curtain on her left. She peeked out as she heard a door shut. She was at a pool, but that was all she could figure out before she saw a red circle on her chest, and so she closed the curtain and slumped against the wall. Sherlock was coming. That much was good to know. He’d figure out a way to get the two of them out alive, and definitely in one piece. She had to have faith in that or else she’d go crazy.

She didn’t know how long it was before she heard a door open. It was a different door than the one the man had gone through. She inched closer to the curtain, afraid to open it. Getting shot was just as bad as getting blown up. When she finally heard Sherlock speak she thought she might start crying. She moved the curtain back and stepped out, looking for him. She caught sight of the look on his face as he saw her. “Hello,” she said.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

“Don’t know. He didn’t give his name.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He’s got snipers,” she said. “That’s all I know.”

“I figured as much,” he replied. She hoped he had a gun with him. If the snipers let up he could shoot the man in the head. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“I know,” she said. “I have faith in you.”

The other door opened and the man came strolling out. “That’s quite touching. I might have a tear in my eye,” he said. Amy had her back to him so she couldn’t see what he was doing, but whatever it was Sherlock looked angry and annoyed. “True love is so precious. It shouldn’t be squandered.” He stopped a few feet behind her.

“I have the drive,” Sherlock said, holding up a small flash drive. “You wanted the information. Here it is.”

“Want to make a trade? Information for the woman you love? Oh, wait, you’re a high functioning sociopath. You don’t love her. You aren’t capable of love.” He began moving again, and when he got to Amelia he stopped and leaned over, sniffing her. “She does smell nice, doesn’t she?”

Sherlock tensed but showed no other reaction. “The information?”

“Right, of course. Information. That’s what every criminal mastermind needs.” He moved away from Amy and went up to Sherlock, taking the drive out of his hand. Then he walked over to the pool and dropped the flash drive in. “But I don’t need it _that_ much.”

Sherlock pulled a gun out of his pocket and Amy breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly there was a red dot on her chest. “The snipers,” she said.

“Yes. Always helps to be prepared,” the man said. “I know you’ve figured out who I am, Sherlock. Did you like Jim the IT technician?”

“Passing your number to me was a nice touch, Moriarty,” he said. “You play gay quite convincingly.”

“Who’s to say I’m not?” he replied, moving back to where he had been before. “It doesn’t matter, though. I simply can’t let you live. It would have been fun to continue the game, but you’re too clever, Sherlock. Eventually you would find a way to catch me, and I just can’t let that happen.”

“At least let her go,” he replied.

“Well, she knows who I am now. If you hadn’t used my name I might have. But,” he said with a sigh, “she knows too much, I’m afraid. Such a waste.”

The red light on Amelia’s chest blinked out. “Clear!” she heard John shout from up above.

Moriarty looked up to the bleachers above the pool but Sherlock fired the gun, hitting him in the chest. Moriarty spun, and fell down to the ground, but Sherlock was quickly on him. He slugged him across the face with the gun once, then again, and Moriarty stopped moving. But Sherlock kept hitting him. Amy looked on, horrified. After a few moments which seemed to go on forever John came running through the same door Sherlock had come in. He went and pulled Sherlock off Moriarty. Sherlock had blood on his hands and his suit. 

John knelt down next to the man. “He has a pulse. It’s faint, but he’s got one,” he replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. When somebody picked up he explained the situation.

Sherlock seemed to be stuck in some sort of state of shock. He looked at his hands, and finally when he looked up he saw her. She must have looked terrified because his expression changed. “Amelia…” She couldn’t help it. She took a step back when he took a step towards her. He paused. “I only wanted to keep you safe,” he said.

John finished his conversation and looked at them. “An ambulance is on the way,” he said. He looked at Amy, then moved towards her. She didn’t recoil from him. “Here, let’s get this off of you, shall we?” She turned to him and he helped her shrug out of the coat and then he got the bomb off of her. She was shaking now as the shock and horror caught up with her, and she began to faint. The last thing she knew John was behind her, and then nothing.

She woke up later in a bed. Her bed, at her home. She was still in the same outfit she’d worn since the morning before. John was sitting at the end of her bed. She realized this was the first time John had seen her bedroom, and she knew it was stupid but she was glad it was clean. “Hey,” she said, sitting up.

“You gave us a scare,” he replied, a smile on his face.

“Where’s Sherlock?” she asked.

“Home. Lestrade got the case but it seems Scotland Yard is going to sweep it under the rug. Mycroft was there and he’s making sure of it.”

“Oh,” she said, bringing her knees up to her chin.

“The paramedics thought you had been hurt worse since you didn’t want to wake up. I had to reassure them you would be in a doctor’s care before I was able to bring you here. But I got the feeling you wouldn’t want to wake up in a hospital bed.”

“No, I wouldn’t have wanted that,” she said. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to ask, or how, but she was going to try. “Did you ever think Sherlock would get so…?”

“Over you? Yes,” he said. “He was willing to kill Moriarty. I can tell you why, though you should probably hear this from him.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

“Moriarty is a criminal mastermind. There were four snipers that I had to take down. So imagine this: Sherlock sent the text at eight in the evening. Within three hours Moriarty had gathered up four snipers and kidnapped you. It would take much longer for most people to get one. Sherlock knew you wouldn’t be safe as long as he was alive. To keep you safe, he was willing to kill Moriarty.”

“Is he dead?” she asked.

John shook his head. “He’s in a vegetative state, though. He’ll be in a coma until someone decides to pull the plug. He won’t ever wake up.”

“Oh,” she said. She stayed quiet for a few moments. “Are the police going to want to talk to me?”

“No, probably not. Like I said, this is all being swept under the rug. The government is more interested in waiting for Moriarty’s criminal empire to fall apart, and Scotland Yard wants to keep having Sherlock around. Officially, there is no case. Mycroft might come around, but I doubt it. He didn’t seem too concerned about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s never been concerned about me any more than he absolutely needed to be.”

John chuckled slightly. “I forgot about the bad blood between the two of you.” Then he sobered up slightly. “Do you want Sherlock to come over?”

She shook her head slowly. “Not right now. I need to think about things. But…tell him I said I’ll talk to him soon. It’s not fair to leave him in limbo.”

“I will. Do you mind if I come by?”

“No, please do. You two are my only friends here.”

He went over to her and gave her a hug which she promptly returned. “Good night, Amy.”

“Good night.” She listened to him leave, and then after a moment she got up, changed into pajamas and checked the locks. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to go to sleep any time soon, so she went into the kitchen, heated up some leftover chicken stew and sat on her couch. She turned on the TV and tried to drown out all the thoughts she was having. It worked, and about five hours later she was asleep again, her dreams blissfully ignorant of the night’s events.

\--

The next day John called her to tell her someone was coming by to install an alarm system in her home. She knew it was Sherlock’s idea and Sherlock was going to pay for it, and that thought made her feel a little better. The man came about a half hour later and installed the alarm, showing her how it worked, how to punch in her code and how to change it, and all the other things she needed to know. She thanked him and when he left turned her alarm on. She felt safer now.

John did come visit, but he wouldn’t talk about Sherlock. He did say he would let Sherlock know how she was doing, and she was okay with that. He didn’t appear to be getting much sleep, and she could relate. It was hard for her as well, though probably for very different reasons. She felt better after talking to him, but something just wasn’t there.

She didn’t feel completely fine, and as the days went by she felt more and more like all she wanted to do was escape. She didn’t want to be in London, where it was messy and Sherlock was there. She wanted to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else. She needed time away to think and figure out exactly what she wanted. She needed the Doctor, she realized. He could help her. But did she really want to get up and leave again? Wasn’t she trying to change, be more independent?

She had decided early on not to tell the Doctor. She didn’t want him to worry and hover; she needed to move on from her adventures with him and live an adult life. The occasional adventure was fine, but she knew he would whisk her away at a moment’s notice if he thought she was in real danger. She needed to be able to face it on her own, without having to rely on him, and without having to rely on Sherlock and John as well. But this urge was too strong, and she knew if she went somewhere with the Doctor it would clear her head.

After ten minutes of arguing in her head she picked up her phone. She dialed one number she hadn’t called in a while and hoped he picked up. Two rings later there was an answer. “Hello?” a woman said.

Amy relaxed. It was unusual for someone other than the Doctor to answer to phone, unless it was River. “Hello, River,” she said with a smile on her face.

“Amy!” she replied happily. “It’s good to hear from you. Did you want to speak to the Doctor?”

“I had hoped to,” she said.

“He’s a tad busy at the moment, but he’ll be up shortly. Something blew on the console panel and he’s fixing it.”

“Ah,” she said.

“So how are things? How’s London?”

“Things are good. London’s nice, I suppose. I don’t go exploring a lot.”

“Ah. And how are things with Sherlock?”

“Fine,” she said. It was a blatant lie but she hoped River wouldn’t press. “I was going to call the Doctor because I miss him and thought I might hang out for a bit.”

“You’re that lonely?”

“Terribly.”

“I don’t think he’d have a problem picking you up,” River said.

“That would be wonderful,” Amy said.

“Well, here he is.” She heard River give him a brief rundown, punctuated by “or I’ll be cross” when she said to pick Amy up. She giggled slightly at that.

“Hello, Amy,” he said. “Want me to come by and pick you up for a bit?”

“That would be lovely,” she replied.

“I’ll come to the door and get you,” he replied. “Be there in about ten minutes.”

“All right, good,” she said. “See you soon.” She hung up and put her dinner dishes in the sink and then went to the closet to grab her coat. She thought about calling Sherlock and letting him know she was going off with the Doctor and River, but changed her mind. He’d probably try and talk her out of it, and she needed this. He knew that if the Doctor asked her to go somewhere she’d go, and it wasn’t like it was going to be a long trip. Just a few hours, nothing more.

She sat back down, though this time she moved to her bedroom. Soon she heard a knock at the door and she went over to it and looked out. It was the Doctor, standing there with a slightly concerned look on his face. She opened the door and he gave her a hug. “Hello, Pond,” he said as she hugged him back. When they pulled apart he grinned slightly. “You missed me. I’m touched.”

“Of course I’d miss you,” she said.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Ready,” she said, opening her coat slightly. She went to the coatrack and grabbed her handbaf and the first scarf she laid her hand on. It took her a moment to realize it was one of Sherlock’s, the red one she had given him as a Christmas gift, but she put it on anyway. She went back to the Doctor and he gave her his arm. She took it as soon as she closed and locked the door behind her, and then they were off. The feeling had gone away, and she wondered if all the fuss had really been necessary. Or maybe it went away because of the Doctor being there. She couldn’t tell.

They got to the TARDIS in about five minutes, and when the Doctor threw open the doors Amy saw River waiting, wearing khaki pants and a white jacket. She ran over to the other woman with a wide grin and they hugged. “You look very well,” River said, though there was a slight look of confusion on her face. “Very thin.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “Trying to eat healthy and do a little more working out.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod, the confused look disappearing off her face. “You look smashing.”

“You look happy,” Amy replied. It was true; once the confused look left her face a bright smile settled on it and it looked as though she’d been wearing it a lot.

“It’s because I am,” she said. “We were going to go to Stonehenge and poke around, but we decided to let you choose where you want to go.”

Amy thought about it for a moment. “I kind of want to meet Vincent Van Gogh.”

“That sounds like fun,” River said. “I’m afraid I can’t join you on that trip, however. Made a bit of a ruckus the last time I went.”

“Yeah, she had the constable toss her in jail,” the Doctor said with a grin. “She didn’t even get to meet Vincent.”

“I’m used to jail cells,” she said with a shrug. “Stormcage is much better.”

“I don’t want to take away from your time with him,” Amy said with a slight frown.

“I’ll have time with him afterwards,” she said. “And if not today then he can always get me some other time. You have a life and responsibilities that you shouldn’t run away from. This is kind of a special treat.” She looked at the Doctor. “I’ll just slip into something else and amuse myself aboard the TARDIS. I’ll be fine.”

“The pool should be warm,” the Doctor said before going to the controls and fiddling with them. “And there’s always the library.”

“I was thinking a movie. Something with a lot of explosions and action. Something with Bruce Willis.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “You always want to watch something with explosions and violence and Bruce Willis. I still don’t know what you see in him.”

“He’s attractive and funny. And if I watch it while you’re gone I won’t have to listen to you complain about it,” she said with a smile as she approached him. “I think I’ll marathon all the Die Hard movies tonight. I especially love the fifth one.”

“Fifth one?” Amy asked. “There’s only four.”

“Oops,” River said. “Spoilers.”

Amy shook her head, a grin on her face. “Have fun.”

“I will,” She gave Amy a wave as she walked off towards the rooms, leaving Amy and the Doctor alone.

Amy went up to the console. “You two have a very interesting relationship,” she teased, bumping her shoulder into his.

“That’s one word for it, I suppose. I call it challenging and maddening and an awful lot of fun.” He grinned at Amy. “We’re here.”

She clapped her hands and ran down to the doors. She opened them quickly and walked out, the Doctor right behind her. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Arles,” he said. “I had thought about visiting this time and place again anyway. Do you remember the time I took you to the Musée d'Orsay in Paris?”

She nodded. “After I introduced you to Sherlock,” she said. “We saw the Van Gogh exhibit.”

“There was a painting there, _The Church at Auvers_ , that looked a bit strange to me. I didn’t mention it to you, but I took River there to see the same thing and she noticed. We came here at a different time and she got in trouble and we didn’t get close to Vincent. I’m hoping I can today.”

“Leave it to me,” Amy said with a nod. They made their way to a café and Amy stopped in shock. “There he is!” she whispered to the Doctor excitedly.

“I need to go investigate something. Get his attention and keep him company.” He handed her some money which she assumed was from this time period, and she went to a table and sat down. 

Vincent was trying to sell one of his paintings, to no avail. He looked dejected and started to walk away. “Oi, are you Vincent van Gogh?” she called over to him.

He stopped and looked at her. “Yes.”

“Let me buy you a drink,” she said. “We can discuss painting.”

“He’s not welcome here,” a woman said from nearby.

She flashed her money. “I’m a paying customer, I want him as my guest,” she replied. Then she turned back to him and gave him a bright smile. “Come on. Sit down.”

He hesitated, then moved towards her table and sat down. The man who owned the place, or so Amy assumed, scowled at her as she gave him her order for wine and something to eat for both of them. He left and Vincent looked at her strangely. “No one ever wants to talk about my paintings,” he said.

“I love art,” she replied. “I think painting is the best form of art. It really puts the heart and soul of what the painter is seeing onto canvas.”

“I feel much the same way,” he said. “Most people here do not.”

She shook her head. “Then they don’t know a good thing when they see it.” She gestured to the painting he had with him. “May I?” He nodded, and she picked it up. “This is gorgeous. This is absolutely stunning.”

Vincent blushed slightly. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a nod. “You’re very talented.” Just then the Doctor arrived. “This is my friend, the Doctor.”

“Doctor?” Vincent said, worried.

“Not that kind of Doctor,” she replied. She showed him the painting. “What do you think, Doctor?”

“I think it’s magnificent,” he replied very warmly. “It deserves to hang in a museum.”

“That’s lofty praise for a piece of trash,” the woman who had spoken before said snidely.

“It’s not trash, you old hag,” Amy said, glaring at her. “It’s wonderful.” The man who had taken her order looked at her angrily, and she stood up. “We don’t need your wine or your food, you ungrateful—“ But the Doctor clapped his hand over her mouth before she said anything else.

“We’ll be on our way,” he said.

Vincent stood up as well, taking his painting with him. The three of them walked away, and Vincent turned to them. “Do you have a place to stay for the night? You are strangers here, but you seem nicer than those I’ve known my whole life.”

“We don’t have lodgings right now,’ the Doctor said. “And I think after the scene there no one would offer.”

“I haven’t had anyone stand up for my work before,” he said. “I would be honored if you would stay with me tonight.” Then he turned to Amy. “I never did get your name.”

“Amelia,” she said with a smile. “Amelia Pond.”

“Nice to meet you, Amelia.” 

They all continued to chat as they walked to Vincent’s home. Amelia started to lag behind, however, because of a rock in her shoes. She was about twenty steps behind the two men, who were deep in conversation, when she felt something invisible grab at her. “Doctor!” she screamed. The two men turned, and the Doctor came running, sonic screwdriver out. Whatever it was that grabbed her grabbed at her hair and pulled, and then let go and as far as she could tell was gone back to where it came from. “What was that?” she asked, breathing hard.

“I’ve seen it before,” Vincent said as he approached.

“You could see it?” the Doctor asked, surprised.

He nodded. “I’m the only one.”

“Let’s get to your home and you can sketch it for me,” the Doctor replied. They hurried to Vincent’s home and while Vincent and the Doctor talked Amy looked around at the pictures he had painted. Something was missing. He hadn’t sold any of his pictures and yet there were no sunflowers. But her attention was pulled away by an anguished cry. She ran over to the Doctor, who was at Vincent’s bedroom door. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but she didn’t know to whom.

“What happened?” she asked him.

“I told him we would be leaving tomorrow evening.”

“Oh,” Amelia said. “I keep forgetting that he had problems because he’s so nice.”

“There’s nothing we can do for now. I suggest we get some sleep.” He walked away from the door and Amelia did the same after listening to Vincent’s sobs for a few minutes. She would do something to cheer him up. Eventually she found a bed and crawled into it, pulling the blanket over her. She slept fitfully, and while it was still dark she found she couldn’t sleep anymore. She laid awake, thoughts in her head about everything. She thought about her life as a child, and how lonely and closed off she felt, even with Rory and Mels, until she got close to Sherlock. She thought about her and Rory, and tried to figure out what had gone so wrong that she had run off the night before her wedding and not really looked back. She thought about her life now, and how few friends she had, and how even though she loved Sherlock and enjoyed John’s company she needed a life independent of them to be happy.

She did most of her thinking about what happened with Moriarty, though. Not just about whether she’d be safe if she continued to date Sherlock, but the other things Moriarty had said. The trained lover remark had her thinking the most. Sherlock had raised her, essentially, and she wasn’t sure if he had done things on purpose now or not. Moriarty had raised doubt in her mind and she didn’t like it at all. And normally she would just go to Sherlock and talk this out, but then she wasn’t sure how she felt about him beating a man into a coma. She thought she could handle an angry outburst from him but she wondered if she was ready to handle exactly what he was capable of.

When she finally got out of bed she had made some decisions, but other questions still raged. She went to find the Doctor, who had a strange contraption with him, and was surprised to see Vincent, who had his supplies and his easel with him. She smiled at Vincent. “Ready to do some painting?” she asked.

“Yes,’ he replied, giving her a smile as well. They walked off and ended up at a church some distance away. Vincent set up his easel and began to paint. Amy watched, riveted, while the Doctor got fidgety and bored. She elbowed him a few times to get him to be quiet. After some time Vincent lowered his brush. “I see the monster, in the church,” he replied.

The Doctor got up. “Whatever happens, don’t come in after me. Your life could be at stake.” He took off as Amy stood next to Vincent.

“Are you going to follow him?” he asked.

She nodded. “Of course.” And with that, the two of them went into the church. The Doctor had already found the monster, and it was attacking him. It took a while, but soon the creature was impaled on Vincent’s easel when it tried to lunge at him. Both the Doctor and Vincent looked sad. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’ve never taken a life before,” Vincent said.

“And this creature never meant to hurt anyone,” the Doctor said. “From what Vincent said, it was blind. That’s probably why it was abandoned.”

Amy went over and gave Vincent a hug, which surprised him but he returned it and she held on for a few minutes. “It will be okay,” she said softly. “All of it will.” They gathered up Vincent’s things and made their way back to his home after that. It was getting dark, and Amelia looked up. “Vincent?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“What do you see when you see the stars?” she asked.

He paused, then moved over to a nearby field, beckoning for them to join him. Then he laid down on the ground, and Amy and the Doctor did the same. “Hold my hand, Doctor. Try to see what I see. We're so lucky we're still alive to see this beautiful world. Look at the sky. It's not dark and black and without character. The black is in fact deep blue. And over there! Lighter blue. And blowing through the blueness and the blackness, the winds swirling through the air. And there shining, burning, bursting through, the stars! Can you see how they roll their light? Everywhere we look, the complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.”

As Amy looked and listened she could see the sky as though she was viewing _The Starry Night_ only it was vivid and real and pulsing with light. They stayed like that for a long while before finally heading back to his home. She still had a hard time sleeping but this time she wanted to surprise Vincent. She went to her purse and got out the small knife Sherlock had given her for her protection and crept out of the room quietly. Then she went to the field of sunflowers she had seen. She spent almost two hours cutting down sunflowers and bringing them into the courtyard of Vincent’s home, filling up as much available space as she could.

She sat in the courtyard, admiring her work and waiting. Soon the window was opened out above the courtyard and Vincent looked, the surprise on his face evident. She waved, a huge smile on her face. “Thought you could use some inspiration.”

He came downstairs and she hugged him tight. “Marry me, when you get tired of the Doctor,” he said.

She laughed. “I’m not in love with him, but I am in love with somebody else,” she said.

“Then when you tire of him,” he said.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I will keep you at the top of my list if that happens.” Vincent offered them a painting, but they both refused. He seemed sad at that, and she turned to the Doctor. “Could we take him somewhere?”

“Where?” he asked.

“The museum in Paris,” she said.

“I’m not supposed to,” he said.

“Please?” she replied.

He looked at her and then sighed. “Very well. Vincent, would you like to take a trip?”

“To where?”

“To someplace where your work is admired,” he said.

Amy gave Vincent her arm and they went to the TARDIS. It didn’t take long but they were soon in Paris, and Amy excitedly led him to the museum. His hat in his hands, he looked at the people there, all admiring his pictures. The Doctor spoke to a curator who went on about how Vincent was a brilliant man, and Amy got to watch Vincent’s face as he heard that, indeed, his paintings were masterpieces.

They took him back and said their final good-byes. Amy looked at the Doctor. “Can we go back and see all the new work he did?” she asked.

“Amy,” he replied.

“Please?”

“All right,” the Doctor said. They went back to the museum and Amy looked, but saw no new work. She felt sad, even heartbroken. “He still died, Amelia.”

“So we did nothing?” she asked, a tear slipping down her face.

“We gave him better days, and that in no way makes it worse,” he said. He caught sight of one of the sunflower paintings and stepped closer. “Amelia. Come take a look.”

She stepped closer, and her eyes widened as she saw the text on the painting. “To Amelia,” she said quietly, and a smile formed on her face despite the tears that had rolled down her cheek.

“We gave him good days, Amelia. Remember that,” he said as he pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back, and then they left. He took her home and walked her to the door. “I brought you back three hours after we left instead of two days so Sherlock wouldn’t get upset with me,” he said. “I’m getting better at the time gaps.”

She smiled and shifted her purse to open it. And then she paused, and pulled out a small painting. “I can’t believe he did that,” she murmured. It was of a flower. Not a sunflower, but a daisy.

“Treasure it,” the Doctor said with a smile.

“I intend to.” She pulled her keys out and let herself in, waving to the Doctor one last time before shutting the door. She placed the picture on the table where she kept her purse, undid her scarf and took off her coat. Humming, she walked into her bedroom. She had made up her mind on the matter, and she would tell Sherlock tomorrow. She just hoped she hadn’t waited too long to tell him.

\--

John came to visit the next day. She could see from the bags under his eyes that it was probably not pleasant to live with Sherlock at the moment, and she felt sorry for both of them. And truth be told, she missed Sherlock. In the time she spent with Vincent and the Doctor, at night when she tried to sleep, she realized she wanted nothing more than to be curled up in bed with Sherlock holding her close.

“I’ve made a decision,” she said as she poured tea for her and John.

“Good or bad?” he asked.

“Good,” she said, setting the kettle down. “He was protecting me. I’ve accepted he’ll go to any lengths to do that. I sorted out some other stuff too, kind of, but I want to talk to him about that.”

The relief that flooded John’s face was priceless. “Promise me you’ll tell him today,” he said, almost begging.

She nodded. “I was going to tell him as soon as you left. If I were you I’d probably find someplace else to stay tonight.”

“I stayed at Sarah’s last night. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

She paused. “Is it that bad?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“He’s not suicidal or anything,” John assured her. “That was the first two days. No _real_ attempts, but he did say he didn’t care if he lived or died at that point.”

“Oh dear God,” she said, her eyes wide.

“Lestrade hurried up and gave him a case. I begged him for one, actually, and it was a tricky one. But Sherlock just went through the motions. He got no real satisfaction from solving it. He didn’t even care that Anderson was being an arse. When I left today he was just staring at the wall. He barely even acknowledged me.”

She stood up. “The code is 4938.”

“Are you going to him now?”

“Yeah, I’m going now,” she said, heading into her room. She grabbed her coat, and then went to the coat rack and grabbed Sherlock’s scarf, the one she’d been sleeping with every night, and put it on. “Stay here tonight if you want. There’s leftovers in the refrigerator and I have a bottle of Jack Daniels above the stove if you want a drink.” She glanced over to him. “You don’t think he’s done anything stupid yet, do you?”

“I don’t think he’s done anything,” he replied.

“I hope you’re right.” She grabbed her keys, punched in her code and raced out the door. She got into her car and took every shortcut she could until she got to 221B Baker Street, going over the speed limit to get there as quickly as possible. The front door was open and she ran inside and then up the stairs. She banged on the door. “Sherlock Holmes, you better not have done something stupid!” she said.

Mrs. Hudson came down the stairs. “Amelia. Oh, thank God,” she said. “You’re taking him back?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Provided he opens the door, anyway.”

“I’m so glad,” she said with a wide smile as the door swung open. She pointed and Amy turned to see an unshaven Sherlock looking at her.

“When have I ever done anything stu—“ He was cut off by Amelia’s lips on his as she launched herself at him. He stumbled slightly as he caught her weight but kissed her back as soon as they were righted. She pulled away when she needed to breathe, and both of them were panting heavily. “You’re not mad at me?” he asked, reaching a hand up to touch her face.

“No,” she said. “There’s a few things I want to ask you, but I’m not mad. I’m not scared either.”

“I thought I’d pushed you away,” he said quietly.

“You saved my life,” she said. She stepped away from him and shut the door. She loved Mrs. Hudson, but she didn’t need to hear this conversation. “How often did I see you when I was a kid? On a weekly basis, I mean.”

He thought. “When Mycroft was watching you or when I was?”

“Both.”

“Maybe twice a week before I started watching you. Four times or more a week when I took over the job.”

“Would you say we were close?” she said.

He nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going. “You were, for the longest time, my only friend.”

“Did you ever imagine when you knew me as a kid that you’d end up dating me? Did you plan on that happening in the distant future?”

“No,” he admitted. “Despite the green make-up on your face the last time I saw you I could have admitted you’d grown into an attractive young woman, but I wasn’t attracted to you, not until you arrived at my door with the Doctor close behind you.”

“I had a crush on you from the age of nine to the age of sixteen,” she said. He knew this already; she’d brought it up before. “And for part of that time, pretty much, you raised me. I saw you more than I saw my aunt. I looked at you as my best friend, even more than Mels or Rory, while you were in Leadworth. But you practically _raised_ me. Doesn’t that disturb you?”

“No,” he said. She could see on his face that he was starting to see where the problem was. “You think it’s as though I molded you into someone who would be perfect for me as soon as you got to be an adult,” he said.

“That’s what Moriarty claimed. He was lying, right?” she asked quietly, laying her heart out on the line. 

He looked at her intently. “Probably around the time the Doctor visited you when you were a girl I had started to think of you as an ally. Then you grew into a friend. I treated you the way I thought friends were supposed to be treated. I treated you as an equal to me, even though you were younger. I believe that’s why we never had any problems, because there wasn’t a struggle for power in our friendship. You accepted me as I was, and I accepted you for how you were.” He moved over to her, staying within arms reach. “I never conciously planned anything like that. If I had, don’t you think I would have stayed in contact past that Halloween? Or tried to get you out of Leadworth when you turned eighteen?”

“I had thought that might be the case,” she replied. “I just wanted to hear it from you.” She reached up to touch his face. 

“Now that you know how dangerous my job can be, do you still want to pursue a relationship with me?” he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, Sherlock. I want to keep dating you.”

“All right,” he said. She could see some shadowed darkness leave his eyes, and she smiled at him. She got a smile in return.

“You know, you _did_ almost lose me,” she said teasingly.

“How so?” he asked, putting his hands on either side of her waist.

“I got a marriage proposal from Vincent van Gogh yesterday,” she said.

“And why did you say no?” he asked.

“Because I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” She slid her arms around his neck. “I admire him but I don’t love him. I know now I never loved Rory Williams. You’ve been the person I’ve loved for so long it just feels stupid that I haven’t admitted it.”

He kissed her again, a slow but very passionate kiss. She knew he wasn’t going to say he loved her back. He might never say those words, and that was something else she had realized in the last week, and she was okay with that. But there was no man in all of time and space who made her feel the way he did, and she would stay with him no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “What are your plans for this evening?”

“I stay here with you and we do whatever you want. I told John to stay at my place tonight so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

“There’s always Mrs. Hudson,” he said.

“Then I won’t scream,” she said with a smile. He chuckled at that. “But first, you shave. I don’t want whisker burn because I plan on kissing you an awful lot this evening. We have a week to make up for. I’m even up for joining you for a shower.”

“I suppose this is what they call make-up sex?”

“Oh yes.”

“Perhaps we should fight more often.”

“Don’t even think it.” She kissed him again, this time quickly, then pulled away and pushed him towards the bathroom. “Go on. Go.”

It wasn’t until much later that they finally fell into his bed to sleep, and as he pulled her close against him she realized that this feeling was what she had been missing since Moriarty had started his game, this feeling of completeness and satisfaction. She pulled one of his hands up to her lips and kissed his palm before shutting her eyes and starting to fall asleep. She would never let him go, never again. He was her one true love, and she wouldn’t let anything come between them.


End file.
